More Than Words
by fictitiousburn
Summary: These royals, they were in love, once upon a time (Ozai/Ursa)(Urzai Month 2013)
1. Song

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Ozai pivots, shifting his weight to his right half of his body as a flaming fist connects with solid concrete with a crack, pieces of rubble falling to bits around him. He punches the block rapidly, knuckles reddening with heat and irritating, sweat dripping from his face, down his shoulders, across his muscled chest — anything to distract him from that _infernal_ noise he keeps hearing around the palace.

Sure, he spends all of his spare time training rather than with Ursa, but they have children now. He expects things to change but in his eyes, they have stayed startlingly the same. He can't drown out her melodious voice any longer, but it causes something dark and bitter to seize his chest.

Ozai knows the song that Ursa sings so frequently around the palace. It is some sort of reprise ending to that dreadful play, Love Amongst Dragons, which she holds so dearly to her heart. It is bits and pieces that he fits together that lead him to knit together the facts; her common boyfriend was the lead, a Dragon Emperor who is cursed to live amongst mortals and she was a mortal, whom the Emperor falls in love with. She sings the song that solidifies their love for one another.

It's simple, really. Every time he hears her crooning those notes when she tucks their children in or when she walks around the palace or sits out in the gardens, he feels something stabbing in his chest, a pain he can't identify with anything other than jealousy, rage, and a nagging sensation that she'll never love him.

Which is a shame, because he's starting to fall in love with her.

She's beautiful and bold and as much as Ozai tries to remind himself that this is a marriage arranged in all facets for convenience, that there is still something that draws him to her, more than just what his necessary duty is towards her. He mutters curses under his breath as he wraps his knuckles gingerly, pulling on all of his patience so he doesn't burn the bandage right off of his hands.

When he steps out of the training area, Ursa is there. She's holding Azula, who is fascinated with the bright torches on the wall, singing gently to her. She nuzzles her face against her daughter's and it momentarily distracts the toddler as she giggles, burying her face in Ursa's hair, but her eyes dart back towards the fire casting shadows along the hall.

"Daddy!" Azula spots Ozai first and Ursa turns with a gentle laugh; she is beautiful and Ozai hates it because he has never wanted anything that wasn't his completely; this song that she sings will forever mark her as someone else's lover.

She spots the blood seeping through his bandages before anything else. "Are you all right, my love? What's happened to your hands?" She shifts Azula in her arms, reaching out a delicate hand to run the tips of her fingers over the bandage.

He withdraws his hand with a hiss. "Stupid woman," he says, turning on his heel, dark hair swaying, "why would you do that, why would you touch my wound?" He starts to walk away, grumbling under his breath when he can hear Ursa following him, Azula babbling in her arms.

"Hey!" She says, defensiveness lining her voice, "I'm just trying to see if you're all right." She catches him by the shoulder and is surprised when he whirls around on her the second she does it.

"What's it to you? You've been singing your love song all day without any regard for what anyone else might be doing." It seems childish and wrong that he's picking at her over a song, but he is. He's spoiled and he wants this to stop, he wants to stop feeling things for her when it's clear to him that she doesn't return those sentiments.

Ursa only snorts, putting her free hand on her hip. "That's my favorite song," she points out backhandedly, "I sing it because it reminds me of you."

Well, now he just feels foolish. Shock takes over his features and he stares at his wife dumbly, his lips parted slightly as he tries to comprehend, tries to dial back all of the assumptions he's made about her. "I…but you and…the Dragon Emperor…"

His heart thuds in his chest, partially from shame and partially from bashfulness, when she steps forward, moving her hand over his cheek gently. "You're a Prince," she says with a soft smile, "and I am just…some girl, some _mortal_ common girl. I didn't choose this life, you know. It just fell into my lap this way. But it doesn't mean I don't love you."

Ozai stares, ignoring his daughter as she makes grabby hands towards him, kicking and fussing in Ursa's grip. He's still unable to wipe the dumbfounded look off of his face, as if she has just reversed everything he thought he knew about her.

In essence, she has, and the smirk on her face tells him that she's aware of it. The fact that she can even manage to turn the tables on him that way is enough to make him admire her even more deeply than he had before. She leans up to him and presses her lips to his nose. "After all, one should count themselves to be so lucky as to wed a Dragon."

Gently, she kisses him on the lips, and pulls away as Azula starts to whine. "Please," she says with a nudge of her hips against his as she walks past, "see to it that your hands are properly bandaged. Those bandages are, uh," she stifles a slight giggle as Ozai looks down at the now singed material and flushes. He glances at his wife, ready to berate her for getting the best of him, but she starts to sing that song — her song for _him_.

And he finds himself falling deeper in love with her.

* * *

**notes:** along with korra smut week, i am also participating in urzai month, because i really, really need it after the search comics. if you want any info on participating in that, you can PM me or head over to tumblr where i will be actively posting drabbles and things for it!


	2. Sun

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation  
**warning:** slightly sexual situations

"It's time to wake up!"

He can't really complain at the way his wife chooses to wake him up, throwing the curtains to their room wide open before jumping back into their bed, crawling over to him, straddling him.

This particular morning, the sun glares angrily across his face. He can feel his inner fire rising, but he squints in annoyance. "Get off of me, Ursa, I am not your play thing." He pushes his wife over and she tips playfully, but climbs back into his lap.

"You are so," she teases, leaning over to press a kiss to his face, ignoring his noises of protest. "How else am I to amuse myself?" Ozai has just about had enough, about to sit up and tell her a thing or two, but she rolls off of him and he shuts his eyes, grumbling under his breath about the sun blinding him.

This doesn't last for long because Ursa is back beside him, kissing his neck and winding her fingers in his hair. "It's time to wake up, my love," she says quietly, kisses trailing down over his collar and across his chest, fingers moving over his muscles. He sits up suddenly, grabbing her wrists in his hands, but Ursa laughs and climbs into his lap again. "You're up," she points out and he growls, pushing her onto her back.

He kisses her hard on the mouth, partially because he's annoyed and partially because he's aroused. She knows that, though, he's sure of that much; she knows him better than anyone else does. That, and she has a habit of waking him up like this every morning, with quiet moans stifled in his neck, sweat dripping between them, hoarse cries of pleasure, and the sun cascading over their bed, illuminating it all.

* * *

**notes:** what is proper word count? idk...


	3. Promise

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation  
**warning:** character death

They hadn't even bothered to get his attention before they announced it; Ozai had long since stopped looking at the prison guards when they came in and out, and this time was no different.

"Your wife," the guard says, and his gold eyes glitter as he gazes up, "she's dead."

That's all he says and he turns his back with a scoff. He must think that the former Fire Lord could care less about his wife. After all, it had been he who banished her, who had forced her away from her hometown and tried to fit her into court life, a life she clearly didn't belong in. Why would he have cared suddenly after all these years?

Ozai wonders the same things as something dark and malicious seizes his heart, squeezing it like it is ripe with juice. He thinks of her long hair and the way she stopped cutting it after they got married; he wonders, because she never really told him, what her favorite color was. He wonders whether it was a greater joy for her to have been a mother or to have been a wife. Most of all, he wishes he'd have known whether she thought about coming back all these years.

"Wait," his voice is a hollow creak and he winces at the sound of it. _Weak_, his mind whispers, _you're getting weak_. The guard freezes in the doorway and appraises the prisoner with a weary look. "How'd you know?"

The guard shrugs his shoulders, as if the answer is glaring him in the face. "Fire Lord Zuko carried her in this morning. They're set to have a memorial for her later today. He doesn't want her burned." And with that, he exits the cell, leaving Ozai to his thoughts. He doesn't feel anything, really. His mind echoes hauntingly with her sparkling, bright smile, her gentle touch, the way she occasionally reminded him that he was taking everything (and himself) far too seriously. The way they fought for weeks because she was stubborn about what she wanted.

The way she sometimes kissed him so much that he believed that she somehow managed to love him. But this love has passed along, far along, and Ursa has now passed with it. It's a difficult concept for him to grasp, but he triest to picture her lying on a pyre, hair cascading around her in a halo, ethereal and beautiful and _gone_.

He wishes his son would let her burn and blow her ash to the wind, so she doesn't have to linger, so she doesn't have to keep existing, and so he doesn't have to remember how many vows he broke by sending her away.


	4. Flame

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

He could intimidate anyone else with that fire of his, but not her. Ursa was scared of things, she was human, but she wasn't scared of her husband or the fire he called so easily to his hands. He'd gotten so frustrated with her once that it'd risen to his palms before he could stop it, glaring deeply at her. Ursa had only tilted her chin up and challenged him, and when his servants walked in on the young Princess and her Prince, he'd dropped his hands to his sides after realizing how he had looked. Perhaps it was because she was a newlywed, perhaps it was because she was fearless, or perhaps it was because she was foolish, like the majority of his servants seemed to think.

But Ursa knew that the last person in the world she should have been scared of was her husband.

So when she walks into the courtyard where he is sparring, she doesn't think twice about sitting on the edge, her legs crossed, eyes fixed on her husband. Ozai is a swift and agile fighter; she admires the way that he stays light on his toes, every single one of his strikes is powerful and concentrated in a blast of fire. His opponent lifts a hand, ready to veer the fire off course but it spirals to the side, careening towards Ursa.

It's funny, looking back, how she can remember everything so clearly. How Ozai's face instantly drew into shock, but his body started to move ahead of his brain, how his sparring partner stared in horror as the fire sailed towards her, and how she simply stared into the center of the flame, waiting. Inexperienced, fearless, foolish Ursa, sitting primly with her legs crossed at the ankles, staring down blazing orange fire.

Ozai connects first, tackling her backwards onto the ground as the fire soars past the two of them. He's breathing heavily, sweat dripping down the front of him onto Ursa's robes, and the first thing she does as she looks up into his worried, terrified gaze, is laugh.

She laughs, shaking underneath him, and Ozai's face furrows into annoyance, rolling off of her and sitting up. "I don't see anything particularly funny, Princess Ursa," he grumbles, shoving his partner out of the way as he furiously tries to apologize. "Damn crazy woman," he says, rolling his eyes when he hears her footsteps shuffling behind him. Carefully, she rests a hand on his back; he winces, turning around.

"What the hell – "

"You've got a burn," she says as he turns. She looks up into his face, drawn into frustrated lines, and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. Even though they're married, even though they've done far more than kiss one another on the cheek, the sentiment is enough to make his face flush a dark pink. She notices this with a gentle smile, but doesn't bring it to his attention. "Thank you," she says, patting him gently on the chest, before she walks away.

Ursa's not sure what she'd have done if she had gotten burned, but Ozai was there; she knows she has no need to be afraid of him, but now she knows she has nothing to be afraid of as long as he's around.

* * *

**notes:** sorry about the delay! had some real life issues but i am catching up :)


	5. Mourning

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation  
**warning: **character death

Zuko hadn't expected things to go this way. Then again, he found himself largely unprepared for the majority of things that life seemed to toss his way. When he found his mother, he had this pipe dream where things magically slid into place, like a puzzle being sorted through and completed after finding a missing piece. He was supposed to find a way to settle this inner turmoil that he had been carrying and dealing with over the past several years, that it was supposed to just stitch itself together and heal now that she was back. But as he watches the two bodies curled up inside of the cell, he hadn't realized that fate had a funny way of mapping things out.

It stung. His mother had been gone for most of his life and his father had never really been a parent to him, but it still hurt, like someone had wedged a sharp, narrow blade in between the crevices of his heart where everything was bound together tightly.

What really jarred him was the sudden sound of sobbing. It pinched something in his chest and he took a step back, turning his glassy golden eyes away and trying to take a deep breath. But all he could do was shudder, and listen to himself as he tried to catch a breath that should have already rested in his lungs. This wasn't _fair_, and it wasn't okay. There had been people, _friends_, whom had lost parents in the war. He'd seen people die, forever lost to the spoils of violent war. He had befriended the Avatar, the last of his people, and two Water Tribe siblings who had lost their mother to the war and their father to the fighting lifestyle that wartime brought along with it.

But this was too much. Everything was supposed to be over and things like _this_ weren't supposed to happen.

Zuko sucks in a breath and takes a step into the cell, ignoring the desperate gaze on his mother's face as he kneels down beside her. Her tears fall onto a still face, pallid and dark from imprisonment, but no less his father for it. The man that he had once looked up to, the man he had wanted to please once upon a time is gone, his head resting gently in his mother's lap. There's nothing to say, so he leans against his mother, tentatively pressing a shaking hand to his father's hair. It's coarse and tangled under his fingers, and he watches as Ursa attempts to smooth it with trembling hands, tears trickling into the dark locks.

Zuko knows he should hate this man, he should spare him no mercy, no tears. But it doesn't stop his eyes from letting them slip past his eyelids, it doesn't stop his mother from curling her arm around him and sobbing into his shoulder.

And it doesn't stop Zuko from holding his mother's hand, speaking somberly as he ignites his father's funeral pyre.


	6. Fear

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Ozai isn't sure what compels him to say it. Perhaps it's the fact that Ursa is holding their son out towards him, a mess of drool and flailing limbs and that loving glint in his golden eyes. He looks so much what he used to look like as a child, but Zuko is different. He clings too tightly, loves too dependently. He may only be one, but Ozai knows that one day he'll have to break of this habit, very soon. Staring at the frantically flailing infant, he swallows his pride and looks at his wife.

"I can't hold him."

Ursa raises an eyebrow, but Ozai only shakes his head. Zuko stares curiously at his father, reaching out again and babbling syllables towards him. Ozai flinches and turns his back.

"Ozai," Ursa says sharply and he winces as he pauses in his step. "What is wrong with you? He's your _son_," she emphasizes, walking over to him and holding the baby out again. Zuko gurgles forgivingly and gazes at his father. Ozai turns his nose up, looking away from him.

Ursa directs a weary look in his direction and then much to his horror, holds Zuko far too close to Ozai's body; the infant clings to his father's neck and squeals in excitement. He presses his soft cheeks into Ozai's robes and the Prince looks down at him with a slightly horrified look on his face. "U-Ursa," he starts, swallowing a knot in his throat, "please don't leave me with him."

"What's so horrible about our son?"

"No! It's not…I just can't…what…please just take him," he says, trying to pry Zuko away from his robes. Ursa comes over to the two of them, her hand resting on Zuko's back, her eyes turned attentively up towards her husband. She's never seen him act like this and it is slightly worrisome, although Zuko seems to have no qualms giggling and clinging to his father.

"I…" Ozai closed his eyes and raised a hand up to the bridge of his nose, letting out a defeated sigh. "I can't hold him." He mumbles the next two words, "I'm afraid."

Ursa looks curiously, but doesn't laugh at his words. "Afraid of what, my love?" It seems silly, especially with how gracious she is with their son. He shouldn't be afraid of _this, _of all things.

He looks down at the squirming baby and Zuko looks at Ozai, golden eyes an exact replica of his father's, tiny fists shoved into the fabrics of his robe. "Afraid that I won't be able to…care for him the way I should." He twitches a little at this admission, knowing that it shows off the weaker side of him. His father had given him numerous amounts of advice on raising a child, and having grown up with distance between himself and his own father gave him pause to create a close bond with his own son.

But Zuko loved him with the indiscrimination of a child, with the fierce loyalty of a son towards his father, and Ozai ached to accept it. But he knew that he couldn't; for his son's own sake when it inevitably came that he disappointed him. The first time he'd let his father down, Ozai had been no older than five, and it was still a pain he struggled to recover from as a parent to his own child. Nevertheless, he found himself handing his son back to Ursa, who took him wordlessly.

Perhaps one day in the future, Zuko would understand this distance between himself and his father. It was for his own good.


	7. Anticipation

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Perhaps it was her mother's fault, she thinks as she furiously wipes the tears from her cheeks. It wouldn't be suitable for her Prince to come to her on their wedding night and see her crying like a child. It's her own fault for listening to Rina's fairytales and fabrications, letting her build up such false hope about how romance was back and forth, slowly earned, anticipated.

Tonight, her husband would come into her room and they would lay together, and that was it. If she was pregnant after that, it'd very well be enough cause for them to never have anything to talk about other than the welfare of their child. She'd only known Ozai for a few weeks.

She couldn't help but long for Ikem. He'd been sweet on her since he was young and he'd done everything to try and show her that much. He'd recited her lines from plays while twirling her around, he'd taken her on walks and talked about the things he wanted in life and in the future. He'd proposed and she'd said yes, but the future she'd looked forward to with him had been crushed the same day.

Taking a deep breath, she wipes the rest of her face with her sleeve and turns to look at her reflection. Her cheeks are pink but thankfully not puffy, and she takes the elegant pins and combs out of her hair. She'd learned from one of her maids that Prince Ozai preferred longer hair on women; having lived and worked in her parents' gardens since she was little had left Ursa prone to cutting her hair before it got past her shoulders; letting it grow back out had been a lengthy process.

She runs her fingers through her hair as she waits, sitting in her bed, eyes worriedly watching the door.

It surprises Ursa when she blinks her eyes open to blinding sunshine. There is a maid shuffling in the far corner of her room who looks startled when she sees the Princess rise from her bed, but Ursa offers her a warm smile. "Good morning," she says, stifling a tiny yawn and stretching. Her wedding robes are crinkled around her legs where she'd fallen asleep and she pulls them off gingerly, looking around for something else to put on before she leaves her room to look for her husband.

She easily spots Ozai in the courtyard; it's still early and the sun isn't at optimal height, but she folds her hands into her sleeves and approaches him with her head bowed, as she has been taught.

"Princess Ursa," he says, his voice more quiet than usual. "What is it?"

Furtively looking at the ground, she sighs gently. "Did I do something to displease you?" Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him moving, but her hair falling down and blocking her vision makes it difficult to determine what he's doing.

That is, until he tilts her head up. "You are my wife. You have no need to defer to me. We are equal." Ursa nods, realizing that his hand is still under her chin and she hasn't shied away from his touch. He appraises her curiously before dropping his hand back to his side.

"You've done nothing wrong. If you're referring to why I didn't, well," for once, she sees him fumble with his words and a small smile appears on her face, "why I didn't visit you last night, I didn't find it very proper. We hardly know each other and I don't suspect you to be a woman who would give her marital virtue away without a little bit of waiting beforehand."

Ursa nearly bursts out into tears at his words, partially from the thoughtfulness and partially from relief. She leans forward boldly and kisses him on the lips and even though his body stills, his lips press into hers. "Thank you," she mumbles as she pulls away, "my Prince."

She leaves him to practice in peace, but she can't wipe the smile off of her face. Perhaps the wait will be worth it in the end. For the first time since she left home, Ursa feels hopeful.


	8. Balance

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Ozai would have never said it to Ursa's face, especially not during this pregnancy, but he thought it was _cute_. The way she wobbled as she rolled out of bed in the morning, the way she almost always tied her hair towards one side of her head, the way she misjudged every ledge, every bump in the sidewalk, and ended up clutching his arm to regain her balance.

No, he'd never admit that he found her sudden loss of balance and depth perception _cute_. She'd have no sooner denied him access to sex the moment he said it.

But still, as she shifted beside him uncomfortable and tipped, her head falling against his shoulder, her hands frantically grasping at him as the pillow she sat on slid from underneath her, he still thought it was cute.

That is, until her hand landed directly in the center of his lap and squeezed, trying to find a solid hold.

No, that wasn't very cute _at all_. That, and now he'd grunted so loud that the entirety of his family seated around the table had looked over at him, but saw nothing but their relative, his wife, and wide eyed little boy.

No one had seen Ursa grabbing him in a fairly sensitive region and Ozai wasn't sure whether or not he was happy for this fact. On one hand, it'd have been understandable why he had been making such a primitive noise, but on the other hand, it'd be a clear indicator as to the effects his wife has on him, even on accident. Such weaknesses to one's wife were not a thing to be proud of, even if it was quite natural.

And yet when Ursa drew her hand away, blushing deeply, he only returned with a grin of his own.


	9. Portrait

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

This was _not_ good. The small beach house echoed with her cries as she tried to find her son. He'd decided that now was a good time to start playing hide and seek, especially at the sight of his mother holding a hairbrush.

So Ursa sighs and hoists Azula from her bed, where she had been skittering her blue fire along the edge of her bed post. She ignores the little girl's cries of protest as the fire slips through her fingers and grits her teeth as she prepares to pull her down the length of the hallway.

Ursa needs her family together and they seemed to be all in chaos.

"Ursa! She winces, letting go of her daughter. Azula snatches the brush from her mother's hand and runs into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Ursa wouldn't have been so unenthused to see her husband if it awsn't for the fact that he was _supposed_ to be resting. He had allowed himself to work to the point of exhaustion and when she'd woken up beside him the next morning, he'd been burning hot as if he'd firebent himself that way.

But here he was, _grinning_ at her, and she knows now that his fever hasn't broken.

"I am ready for our portrait," he continues, sweeping his hands back in a grand gesture. He fumbles with his hair, loose around his face, before he pulls it up, ties it with a ribbon, sticks a pin in it, and lets go. He laughs when the topknot droops over his forehead, strands of hair in his eyes.

Ursa heaves a sigh and slips under Ozai's arm, pushing his hair back from his head. "No, you aren't, my love," she speaks gently as she leads him back to their bedroom, "You need to rest. The court painter will come to paint a better portrait when you're feeling well, and when I find Zuko…and Azula."

All of this information seems to fly over Ozai's head. He simply leans on Ursa, causing her to stumble a little, and begins to rattle on. "We named both of our children after our parents," Ozai says with a snort and a laugh, "after _my_ father, the most insufferable bastard in the whole nation."

Ozai throws his head back and laughs and Ursa has to plant her feet against the ground and grip the doorframe to stop him from dragging them both to the ground. She sighs in relief when she's close enough to the bed to let go, and he rolls into the mattress slowly. Ursa pulls the ribbon and pin from his hair and tries to smooth it down as much as he can before pulling the blankets up over him.

"You're really pretty," he says, catching some of her hair in his hands. She offers him a sweet smile and gingerly kisses his head.

"You really need to rest, Ozai," she says sternly, but Ozai's eyes have gone glassy and wide.

"How will the painter be able to paint a portrait as beautiful as you are? Huh," he scoffs, "good luck with that one."

Ursa gives her husband a weary look, but finds him endearing all the same. She pulls her hair loose from his grip and tucks the blankets around him for good measure.


	10. Rendezvous

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

It is a difficult concept for Ursa to grasp, not being able to see her family again. She knows that her decision was well worth it, but it doesn't stop her from feeling her heart break over it. She has saved her son's life, helped her husband ascend to the throne, and she will not be around to see any of it. This sort of pain is one that she carries with her for longer than she expects.

But, as she finds out over the years, nothing can _really_ keep her away from family.

She finds herself in a small, outlying village of the Fire Nation that reminds her of her hometown, cutting thick sections of her own hair so that it frames her face just underneath her jaw the way it used to. She even takes the time to braid strands of it back with a fond smile, hoping that she can just rescind back into her old life.

She cannot.

But she finds ways back into her family's lives. She stands in the back of Ozai's coronation with a hood drawn up above her head, eyes watching him with Zuko and Azula standing in the background. She listens to her husband's powerful voice, the speech that he gives about the legacy of the Fire Nation and his father's ideas for success. She doesn't stay for very long, feeling that familiar pull in her chest at the sight of her family and being unable to stand it for much longer.

* * *

After Ursa leaves, Ozai starts to notice mysterious happenings around the palace.

Several of Ursa's belongings disappear from her private room. Ozai had wanted to dispose of all of Ursa's things, to clear her space out of the palace, but he just couldn't find the time (or the nerve) to do so. He doesn't worry about her things, he _tries_ not to, but for a moment, anger boils in his chest at the thought of someone stealing his wife's treasures.

One day, Azula returns from school with the entirety of her right forearm bandaged neatly. When her father asks her what happened and where she got hurt, the Fire Princess falls oddly quiet and tells her father that 'some lady' bandaged her up and that it was no big deal.

On Zuko's eleventh birthday, he receives a package with no label of any sort. It's wrapped in ornate red and gold paper and Ozai demands that Zuko burn it because it isn't safe before he turns on his heel and ignores it. He doesn't worry too much about it until one day he collides with his son, carrying an oddly designed blue mask that seems _too_ familiar.

A few days after the Agni Kai, Ozai is floored to see Ursa standing so boldly, uncovered in his courtyard. Her hair is thin and brown, grazing her shoulders, her eyes hardened and unkind towards him. He's not sure what to feel about her presence, whether he should call his guards to gather her up or allow her to speak her peace, even though he knows exactly what she will say.

Or, he thinks so.

"You think what you've done would be unnoticed and accepted as permissible," she says in a voice so malicious and low that he strains to hear her, "but you should know that no mother ever strays too far from her children. And when Zuko grows into his identity and seeks retribution for this, I will not be far from him to celebrate."

He's not sure why, but he doesn't tell anyone that he's seen her.


	11. Dragon

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

"Ursa! Ursa, come here! I need you!"

Ursa sighs from the hallway outside of her husband's room. Zuko and Azula are play fighting with a couple of wooden swords; it's a marvel, her children are, for as swift and agile as Azula is, Zuko matches her in sword skill and determination. Although the welts growing on both of their arms attest enough to exactly why Ursa doesn't like to see them fighting.

She ducks inside of the bedroom, her eyes still trained out in the hallway and narrowly misses a stream of fire that sails by her head. Freezing in place, she turns her head slowly to her husband. Ozai is sitting up straight in his bed, a dopey grin on his face, smoke wafting from his lips. The empty cup on his bedside table tells her that he's recently taken some medication to help with his fever.

Ursa faintly smells the singe of her own hair.

"Did you see?" Ozai says curiously, and Ursa raises an eyebrow, her tone pointed.

"You nearly burnt my face off."

"But it was breath of fire, Ursa," he preens, folding his arms across his chest and grinning that dopey grin. Ursa wants to tuck him in and kiss him. She also wants to smother him gently until he goes to sleep.

She reaches her hands into her hair to run her fingers through it, glad to see that none of her hair is actually charred. "That's lovely, sweetheart," she says, mustering up a smile.

Ozai's eyes cross for a moment. He opens his mouth and a stream of fire shoots out, this time a little to Ursa's left. "Ozai!" She chides, but his excessive fire has attracted their children's attention.

"Dad's a dragon!" Zuko yells, jumping into his father's bed and pointing his sword in Ozai's face. Ozai's illness has made him lenient, so he doesn't mind Zuko's arms around his neck, his son's chin atop his head, and his screaming of, "Go, dragon, go!"

Instead, Ozai laughs at his son, fire trickling from his lips. Zuko is pleased by this new, gentle Ozai, but Azula shrieks, throwing her sword in the corner where it catches fire, and stomps out of the room.

The sight of her husband and her son is too much to keep Ursa worried about the state of Ozai's new tricks, and in spite of his recklessness, she smiles.

* * *

**notes:** by popular request, fever stricken ozai is back in action!


	12. Family

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Ursa scowls at her husband because he simply doesn't _understand_. She is swollen everywhere, constantly cranky, and their baby gives her no time to rest. It lives simply to torture her and most of the time she sits out in the gardens brooding over the fact that she's been doing things crookedly for the past three months and _no one told her_.

So her husband should be grateful all she plans to do is _scowl_ about it.

At the least, she is consoled by Zuko's presence. He's always gentle, patting her stomach, babbling, kissing her cheek when he can reach it. She loves her son to pieces, especially thinking about how easy her pregnancy was then. Zuko hadn't been like this baby, who stretched and kicked and pushed against Ursa until she was about ready to burst. He had been calm, he had been quiet, and he had been in love with Ursa the moment he settled into her arms.

She didn't know much about this baby, but she did know that she wanted to have it already.

"Ursa," his hand on her shoulder causes her to yelp and jump, enough for her to lose her balance and slide off of the bench she was sitting on. He lets out an undignified noise behind her and helps her to her feet, frowning. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well, you have, you frightened me." She snaps, feeling the protesting kicks from being startled so suddenly. "What is it?"

If Ozai has something to say about her attitude, he keeps it in check. "I need you inside for something."

Ursa appraises him with a suspicious and vile look, something he treats as nothing and lets it roll off of him. After a few moments, she concedes and follows him into the palace, her arms crossed.

He's quiet as they walk until they stop in front of their bedroom. He puts a hand on her lower back and tries to usher her forward, but she plants her feet and leans slightly. "What are you doing?"

A sigh curls from his lips. "Ursa, just go inside, please."

She's not convinced that this is at all important. "I hope you don't think I am in the mood for anything other than_cake and a nap_," she starts, but he gently pushes her inside.

"Mama!" Zuko yells as several the servants start to clap for her. The two-year-old jumps down from his spot on their bed, holding a bunch of crinkled flowers in his fist. He offers them to her with a smile, frowning slightly at a petal that falls loose.

Her mouth is parted in shock as she notices an assortment of foods, blushing at the sight of a large chocolate cake. Zuko is grinning, holding flowers while there are other white petals scattered across the floor.

"I just thought I'd…thank you. For dealing with the pain of giving me a family."

It's all too much for Ursa. She frowns, lips twitching, before she starts sobbing, her shoulders shaking, and flings herself against Ozai. Well, as much of herself as she can. Zuko stares at her in confusion before wrapping his arms around her leg in an attempt to hug her.

"I love you," she says with a smile, "and I love our family."

* * *

**notes:** i just wanted to take the time to thank everyone who has reviewed and everyone who has taken the time to rethink exactly how they feel about this royal couple! it warms my heart to be able to help with their portrayal.


	13. Irony

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

The desire for a male heir had always been a strong one in Ozai; he'd seen how his father treated Iroh, how he had always felt that his firstborn was destined for greatness and how he had essentially ignored Ozai until his older brother went off to fight in the war. He'd seen how Iroh and Lu Ten got on, just the two of them, how Lu Ten had been so much in his father's likeness that they'd both gone off to fight in the same war.

Ozai wanted that. He wanted a child to be his shadow, to look up to him, to encompass everything about him that would make his chest stretch with pride.

Instead, he got Zuko.

He'd be thrilled at the news of a son and Zuko was, after all, Ozai's spitting image. They shared the same sharp cheekbones, the same piercing gold eyes, the same thin nose, and the same facial reactions to things. Zuko had been so good at mimicking his father's every movement.

And then, one day, he had gotten swept up into his wife's arms, never to be seen again.

When Zuko had returned from excessive spoiling, he berated Ozai in babbling baby talk; telling him to stop whenever he got angry, smiling at him and generally being a pain. The only person who did those things to him were Ursa, and it seemed she had been teaching their son how to deal with him during moments like this.

Even when Ozai swears under his breath, Zuko is there shaking his head, lips curled into a frown worthy of Ursa's chastising face. "No, Daddy," he says, "that's bad."

It infuriates Ozai so much that his son, whom he expected to be completely in his own likeness, has turned out to be so much like his wife. He is Ozai's in mirror image, but in personality, and in speech, he is Ursa's in all the ways that matter.

So when he pulls Ursa into their bedroom, brows furrowed in irritation and fingers digging possessively into her hips, he doesn't explain himself right away. He just kisses her, desperately and firm on the mouth, wrapping his arms around her waist. She doesn't protest, but she smiles against his lips, pulling away and staring at him curiously.

"Something's wrong with that boy," Ozai says with a frown, pulling her closer, "we need another one, now."

* * *

**notes:** i was without internet for a while there, so sorry about the lateness of these! but i am playing catch up like a diligent little shipper.


	14. Longing

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

It hurts her to think about those days littered with careless smiles and the giggles of her children and the beauty of an untainted marriage. It had taken so much of her to pull her heart away from her rustic village home and shape it again to better fit her new life, to better serve her husband, and it had come to flourish in her new environment.

And it had been stomped all over in the pursuit of power and she was supposed to just be okay with that.

Ursa clutches the sleeve of her cloak in her fist tightly, raises it to her lips so it soaks up the tears sliding down her cheeks. The guard beside her doesn't rush her, not that he would ever know the tangle of feelings going through her mind, not that _anyone_ would ever know that. She takes a deep breath, tremoring, and stares through the dark grates. There is no threat of fire, there is no power to be had in this cell, but she is still fearful that her yearning has all been for naught.

Fearful that she has wanted to see someone who no longer exists.

Her feet shuffle forward of their own volition and she cannot wipe the horrified look from her face, the utter paranoia that grips her heart as she drops to her knees in front of the cell. Through blurry eyes, she gazes into the dank corners and sees a shifting shadow, moving and sliding around until Ozai cautiously pushes himself forward.

He is all dark lines and sunken in cheeks, long, unkempt hair and permanent scowl. He is nothing like she remembers him to be.

Even still, she stays where she is. She's sure she is nothing like he remembers, all short hair and tearful eyes and weak cries coming from her mouth. She curls her fingers around one of the bars in front of her and tilts her head forward, resting it against her fist.

"I never thought you'd come," he says, and she can feel that longing spring to life in her chest.

* * *

**notes:** still catching up! some of these are rather short but there are some lengthy ones to come =)


	15. Lily

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation  
**warning**: slightly sexual situations

Ozai had never had much of an appreciation for flowers, but he can't help but admire the way his wife blooms under his touch, legs spreading, toes curling, back arching — everything to reveal her hot, wet center to him. It's a carefully cultivated thing, his methods in the bedroom; he is certain to kiss her at the base of her neck the way she likes, he remembers to wrap a solid arm around her waist and pull her back against him, he knows she falls apart when his fingers trail the least amounts of heat into the cold crevices of her body.

And here she is, smooth rose tinged skin on display, fingers dragging through her own hair, her body writhing as he continues to please her with fingertips of fire, with a warm, beguiling tongue, with the prowess of slowly coaxing her apart like a lily in bloom, absorbing all of the heat between them and releasing it slowly, gently. He remembers something faintly in the back of his mind, an image of his wife with short, choppy hair, eyes bright as she gently cupped a flower in her palms, as she spoke animatedly about how to care for them, how important it was to be delicate with each beautiful, blooming flower.

He's sure he knows now the delicate care that flowers require (a beautiful, vibrant flower like his Ursa).

Ozai is gentle in his quest to keep her whole and unbroken by passion, although at time he contemplates throwing caution to the wind and submerging them both completely in the highs and lows of what they feel. He doesn't give into this desire, however; he takes explicit care of her needs with a grateful tongue, invasive fingers, a warm caress of his body against hers.

And when she reaches her climax, releasing everything until her body is exhausted and can't do anything further, her smooth petals do not wilt, because Ozai has never had much of an appreciation for flowers, with the exception of the one that bursts into vivid, full bloom at the touch of his fingertips.


	16. Stage

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation  
**warning**: slightly sexual situations

"Skip it," Ursa begs in a slightly sultry voice as she slides into Ozai's lap, her arms around his neck. The Prince's face flushes an endearing shade of pink that spreads over the bridge of his nose and tints both of his cheeks.

_Three_ _months_, something inside of Ozai reminds him, _it's been three whole months since she's last wanted_ this.

She twists innocently enough but the friction creates static between the two of them and Ozai can feel a pulsing sensation start to kindle beneath his robes. "Ursa," he starts in a reprimanding voice and she huffs, climbing off of his lap.

She knows he has important things to do but it's not like she's _asking_ for her sex drive to pique this particular moment. She tries to mask the fact that it feels like rejection on his end because she knows it isn't; she also knows that dealing out rejection for him is something he does subconsciously to people as a casualty of his royal privilege.

Even still, she props her hands on her hips and frowns.

"Ursa, I can't! He says sternly, "This is one of the most important audiences my father has had in the past two months and _finally_ he has asked me to be there and Iroh won't be able to attend, so you _know_ how important…"

His words start to drift off as Ursa resolutely pulls at the sashes around her waist, casually flinging silk garments away from her until the last bit of material draped around her is just for her own entertainment. Underneath it, he can see the curve of her breasts, the shapes of her thighs and his eyes are transfixed on her.

She smirks. "Don't…don't make me choose," he says, but she simply shrugs and turns her back.

"It's in your court, Prince Ozai," she tilts her head back over her shoulder, hair falling down the smooth curve of her shoulders. "You can leave, but I'm really, _really_ tired. I think this is the stage of my pregnancy where I take a lot of naps."

Ozai seems to honestly be considering this, which means for once, Ursa has found something that is more distracting to him than the power his father wields, more distracting than the need to be the best at everything.

When he stands on his feet and crosses the room, she tallies it as a victory.


	17. Echo

**more than words**, a **prompted** drabble compilation

Ozai learns rather soon that Ursa has a particularly nasty penchant for talking to herself. He discovers this one day when his son knocks on his office door, wide yellow eyes peering through the crack at him.

"Get in here," he barks and Zuko startles before sprinting into the room. He stands up straight in front of Ozai's desk, his fingers pressed on the edge, bright eyes leveled at him, and mumbles incoherently.

"Zuko," Ozai leans over the front of his desk and glares down at his son, "how many times have I told you about speaking up?" At all of nearly three years old, Zuko jumps back from his father's desk and clears his throat, shifting nervously on his feet.

"Mama says you're an in…inconsider-ate jerk." He stammers before he bolts out of the office, the sound of his tiny feet carrying him away.

Ozai frowns before reminding himself to resolve the issue later.

If it was the first time it would happen, perhaps it would be a little easier to overlook. But not too long after Azula is born, Zuko walks around his sister's nursery stomping angrily. When Ozai passes him by, he gazes curiously at his son, who freezes mid-step the moment he notices his father in the doorway.

"You big idiot!" Zuko says with a shake of his fist before he can realize what he's doing; when he _does_ realize it, he claps a hand over his mouth and shrinks back into a corner of the nursery.

Ozai considers bringing it to Ursa's attention, but he's too concerned over the fact that his son now has been taught that he is _stupid_.

It's probably the final straw when he spots his son seated alone at the turtleduck pond, his fingers stirring in the water idly. Normally, it's Ursa who takes him out to the pond and sits with him, but he's alone and subsequently ignoring the turtleducks in the pond as he creates ripples with his fingers.

"Zuko," Ozai calls sharply and the boy's shoulders stiffen; he tilts his head back and looks up at his father. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Zuko bites down on his lip but chooses not to answer the question, his lip wobbling as he turns back to the pond.

"Answer me," his father demands, so Zuko sucks in a deep breath.

"Mama says you don't wanna spend time with us no more so I came here by myself cause I don't want you to be angry at me."

For a moment, Ozai considers comforting his son — he actually and truly wants to kneel down beside him and assuage the worry that Ozai despises him. His harshness is naturally, it is because he cares, and he has never wanted to instill any other intimate closeness between himself and his children. It is better that they know their roles now.

But Zuko stares at him with such vulnerability in his gold eyes that he hesitates.

Not for long, though, because he's scoffing and turning his back. "I don't have time for trivial things like feeding turtleducklings and storytelling, and you shouldn't spend your time that way either."

Zuko is three, but he understands his father's disdain as something that isn't personal in the least. Still, it gives him cause for the hot tears that he smothers with the palms of his hands.

Before Ozai can turn around, Ursa is there, sweeping past him and picking Zuko up off of the ground. Almost instantaneously, he melts his face into her hair and flings his arms around her, sniffling quietly. The irritation of being fresh out of bed with their newborn shows on her face, and she frowns at him.

"You keep saying these things in front of our son like he's your own personal messenger and he's going to get the wrong ideas in his head," Ozai snaps, his arms folded low across his chest.

Ursa lifts her chin up challengingly. "You keep _doing_ these things to our son like he's _you_ and he's going to get all the same ideas in his head that your father had about you. I was hoping hearing him tell you these things would elicit a change, but apparently not."

She presses her hand protectively against Zuko's back and holds his gaze for a moment, and Ozai bristles. His relationship with Azulon, as terrible as it was, had been his own. He'd never imagined that he'd have done the same thing to his own son, but there he was — curled up in his mother's embrace, convinced that his father didn't love him.

"Nothing needs to change, Ursa."

Ozai longs to change it, to _show_ it, but the echo of his father's words, the echoes of Ursa's words from his son's mouth holds him back.


End file.
